Forget
by Ducky3
Summary: Something having to do with the future . . . Mamoru's POV . . . I'm really not sure why I wrote this . . .


Author's Note: I'm not sure why I wrote this . . .   
  
  
Forget  
By Ducky   
Email: jessiegb@aol.com  
  
  
  
Sunlight was non-existent.  
  
The clouds suffocated the sky with their darkness, not even   
letting a patch of blue be seen by the inhabitants below.   
Only gray. Gray and black. Few remembered the moon, the   
moon or the stars. Even less remembered natural light.   
No one really cared anymore. Because light only showed   
color. And color was real.   
  
And no one wanted to remember what was real.  
  
He walked down a silent street; collar folded up around his   
ears, hands in his pockets, his footsteps all but echoing in  
the silence. He didn't have to worry about being attacked   
or mugged here. He didn't have to worry about getting hurt   
here. Not physically, at least. No one liked to come here   
during the night. Then again, it was always night. But   
people had reason to fear this place.   
  
Kyoufu, they said.   
  
Be afraid.  
  
Spirits supposedly wandered in this place, reliving their   
lost lives like actors on a stage. Every night saying the   
same lines, carrying out the same carefully choreographed   
movements, then disappearing into the shadows, waiting for   
the time of their next performance.   
  
People were scared of them. Scared of the figures that   
appeared without notice. Scared of the eerie cries that   
reached inside and scratched at your mind. Everyone was   
scared of what they said, what they did. Because the   
spirits constantly replayed what happened in the past.   
And the past was real.  
  
And no one wanted to remember what was real.  
  
No one, except him.   
  
A cold wind blew. The curtain was about to rise. He   
stopped, in the middle of the street, and waited. Another   
gust of wind. This time stronger. His coat billowed out   
behind him, his bangs falling into his eyes.   
  
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the   
greatest show on earth.  
  
The lights came on then. Store lights, streetlights - they   
all came on. A blaze that shot out from nothing,   
everywhere at once, blinding and true.  
  
Lights, camera, action.  
  
The lights awakened the broken remnants, bringing them back   
from their slumber. Flowers sprouted where there was   
gravel, buildings rebuilt themselves from their aged ruins.   
Darkness melted into hues of white, its companions soon   
following in painting the town with their colors.  
  
Juuban was alive once again.  
  
He heard them coming before they appeared. The laughter of   
the small children, the chirping of the birds, the quiet   
murmuring of young couples.   
  
They came slowly, flickering at the edges of his vision.   
Then they appeared in groups, popping up here and there, in   
stores, on the sidewalk, in cars, on bikes . . . They seemed   
too real to be ghosts. Much too real . . .  
  
But he knew that tt was just his memories getting the best   
of him.  
  
He made no movement to get out of the street. Rather, he   
started walking up the middle of the street. The cars passed   
beside him without caring - without knowing. He was   
invisible. He was not apart of this act.  
  
Not anymore.  
  
A certain yellow convertible caught his eye, clearly going   
past the speed limit. He watched as the blonde driver and   
the two passengers, an aqua-haired woman and a dark-green   
haired woman, passed by him and disappeared around a corner.   
He shook his head, and small smile passing over his face.  
  
Same old, same old.  
  
He continued through the city, drinking in all the sights   
and sounds. Everything was the same . . . but different.   
The same because he remembered it all through the eyes of   
one of the performers, one of the actors. Different because   
now he was on the outside looking in.  
  
Now, he was merely part of the audience.   
  
He entered a certain arcade, passing through the clear   
sliding doors. Tapping and beeping and zapping filled the   
air. Sudden moans of loss mingled with whoops of victory.   
He saw the blonde attendant at the front, serving a pair of   
young children, a little girl with her pink hair in an odd   
hairstyle and a slightly older girl with raven hair. Both   
were laughing and sipping the drinks that they had been   
given. Lifting his eyes away from the scene, he raised   
himself up on tiptoe, using his full height to look over the   
game consoles. A familiar wail guided his eyes to a group   
of girls piled together in one booth, two of them arguing   
loudly. He smiled.  
  
Hello again, Usako.  
  
As if on cue, the sliding doors behind him opened. He turned   
around to look at himself, albeit a younger version of   
himself, complete with his trademark green jacket.  
  
It was him.  
  
Me.  
  
  
Enter the knight in shining armor.   
  
  
His smile slipped.  
  
Behind his back he held a bouquet of roses and a stuffed   
animal. A bunny of course. He unknowingly walked past his   
older self to the counter. The pink-haired girl giggled in   
delight upon receiving the little bunny, giving him a hug   
before he moved on to the overstuffed booth. To _her_.   
  
He remembered everything. He remembered her eyes, how they   
lit up when they laid eyes on the bright roses. He   
remembered her smile, her lips, her kiss. He could almost   
feel it.   
  
Almost.  
  
Almost.  
  
He watched them, followed them, and within hours, days   
played out before him. Days of color, of light. Days he   
wished he could go back to.   
  
He had been there once. But they were gone.   
  
  
He had been with her once.   
  
But she was gone.  
  
The others told him to forget. To move on. They didn't   
want to know. They didn't want to remember. They did, but   
they didn't want to. His being like this made them remember.   
Made them feel again. Made them feel for him. They tried   
to keep him from going back. But night after night he came,   
torturing himself, trying to relive the past, trying to go   
back, trying to bring _her_ back.   
  
Trying, crying, screaming, tearing him apart.  
  
  
Light was non-existent here.  
  
  
Not here.  
  
  
  
No, not in here.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ducky  
  
April 13, 2001 - April 19, 2001  



End file.
